After his sixtieth nameday, Sandor Clegane no longer felt the need to get up with the sun. On occasion, he allowed himself to take to his bed and spend the day dozing and staring out the huge bay windows of their keep. It was not illness or low spirits that brought on this change; rather, the years of battle that honed his muscular physique began bringing a litany of aches and pains with the morning. On the coldest days in the north, the singular pain from the old wound his thigh would not be ignored, and it was then that Sandor decided that he earned his rest.
His advancing age, however, did not prevent him from certain other, far more enjoyable activities, and the man was pleased to use his aching body as a means of securing his lovely wife all to himself. Though he did not indulge himself often, on those days his beloved little bird would never fail to return to their bedchamber midmorning, always with the same question on her lips as she knelt down beside him and caressed his shoulders.
"Will you not get up today, my love?"
"No; let the young bucks get to the chores," He would snarl, allowing just enough tremor in his voice to alarm her. "This old man is staying in bed for a bit. But if they dawdle, I'll be down quick enough, believe that." Without fail, these words would immediately bring her into bed beside him while concern knitted her still smooth forehead into a concerned frown.
"I will have hot water brought up from the springs in the godswood," Sansa would offer as she brushed his graying hair away from his eyes tenderly, a naughty smile playing upon her full lips. "You will benefit from a long soak, I think. Perhaps I will add the salts I had the maester make for you."
Yes, Sandor knew she would suggest such a thing, and so he would say, "Still wanting to bathe your old dog, Lady Stark? You know the rule, lass."
The rule, of course, was that she join him in said bath, and so Sansa did. To his great delight, the Lady of Winterfell never failed to set aside her daily activities for him then, and she would spend the rest of her day spoiling him.
Firstly Sansa would order all his favorite foods brought to their rooms, send away the servants, and care for him herself. She would insist the bath filled to the brim, and would then add a fragrant assortment of oils and potions before helping him undress. She would follow him into the water after, never minding if the water sloshed over the sides or if he left puddles on the floor.
While Sansa gently washed his hair and massaged his aching body with healing oils in their shared bath, she would wrap her legs around his waist and kiss him tenderly as she shared the gossip from Wintertown. He loved the way she confided in him and him alone, as though they were co-conspirators in the endeavor of running Winterfell and its environs. The maester would always call about midday, offering to look at him. Without fail she would shoo him away, insisting that it was her place to care for him, and Sandor reveled in her attentions.
Bearing their six children has brought changes to the little bird's body, but Sandor finds her more desirable than ever. His little bird is still as beautiful as she was in the Red Keep to Sandor. The man shamelessly took advantage of the situation, never failing to run his hands over her body seductively as he bathed her, kissing each part of her body as he went, which eventually invariably led to him taking her to bed.
Afterward she would sit on his lap fully nude, just as she did in the early days of their wedded union, laughing and feeding him his favorite foods by hand in their bed. Sandor marveled that Sansa would still make over him as though they were young lovers and not an old married couple who not three moons past had celebrated their twenty fifth anniversary. Yes, Sandor loved every minute of it. When they both had their fill of food and lovemaking, she would then settle into bed beside him and stroke his chest until he fell asleep.
During these precious times, Sandor Clegane would cradle Sansa in his arms and wonder why the gods he had for so long denied had ever chosen to give him the love of such a beautiful, caring woman. Certainly he did nothing to deserve it, as far as he could recall, and during these reflections Sandor would remember the women he cared for in his life, the women who guided him along the road that eventually led him to Sansa Stark.
The first female Sandor noticed was the daughter of the Dornish woodcarver who set up shop in the village under his father's keep. The old man made marvelous toys, Sandor remembers, and to buy his father's favor, he sent his daughter to Clegane Keep with beautifully wrapped boxes for both he and Gregor. Elia was her name. She was the same age as Sandor's sister Elinor, and tall for a woman, with copper skin, deep honey colored eyes and raven curls that flowed down her back.
Sandor remembers that she wore brightly colored gowns seldom seen on ladies in the small village where he was raised, and the sandals on her feet tinkled with tiny bells as she walked the dusty streets, announcing her arrival. Every day when he heard the sound of her footsteps, Sandor would run to his bedroom window to watch her go about her chores below the keep. Everything about her utterly fascinated Sandor, for had never seen anyone with such coloring, and had certainly never seen a lady expose her bare feet in public.
One day he caught sight of her carrying two brightly colored boxes, one blue and one red, toward Clegane Keep. He vividly remembers that he had stared at her from his bedroom window as she approached the keep, transfixed by her otherworldly beauty. She seemed magical, the Dornish girl, and Sandor half believed she was a fairy from the bedtime stories his sister read to him.
When the steward called that they had a visitor, Sandor was pulled from his reverie by his sister. Elinor had gathered him in her arms and excitedly carried him to meet her. Smiling merrily, the young woman presented the blue box to Gregor and the red box for him, and suddenly Sandor found himself overwhelmed with bashfulness. Though delighted by the gift, he could not bring himself to face her, instead choosing to hide behind Elinor's skirts while darting glances her direction.
As far as Sandor could tell, Gregor paid her no mind and did not seem as taken with her as Sandor. Upon receiving his toy knight, his brother rudely brushed her off. But his sister, ever the proper lady, had drawn Sandor out from behind her legs and introduced him to the young woman.
"I am Elinor Clegane. Thank you so much for your kindness. I am certain my brothers will love playing with your father's beautiful toys. The tall one skulking about in the corner is Gregor, and this here is the youngest, my beloved Sandor." She had nudged him forward. "You must forgive him. He is a bit shy a present. What do we say to the lady, Sandy-bear?"
"Thank you, milady." Sandor had barely managed to stutter out. The smiling girl suddenly knelt down before him, her amber eyes twinkling with fun.
"My, you are so very handsome!" And by the way she looked at him, Sandor could tell she meant it. Unable to bear the weight of her full attention, he grinned while slowly backing away, hoping to run to his mother so he could watch her from afar. Elinor nudged him once more.
"Thank you." Sandor finally managed.
"You're very welcome, my little Lord Sandor." She looked him straight in the face and smiled, offering him her hand before he could run away. Shyly he accepted, all the while Sandor felt as though his chest would burst open with excitement. He never forgot the way it felt to have a beautiful woman look him directly in the face and smile, and the desire to have such attentions once again haunted him the rest of his life, until Sansa.
Sandor had sincerely wanted to say more to her, to tell her he listened for the bells on her sandals tinkling every day and thank her for the gifts, but nervousness rendered him speechless and no matter how hard Sandor tried, the words would not come.
"I am Elia Uller; I was named after the Princess Elia of Dorne."
"And very aptly so, my lady, for you are just as beautiful, no doubt." Elinor smiled broadly, lifting Sandor into her arms to alleviate his shyness. His sister was always a lady, soft spoken and with a polite compliment for everyone. "Sandor here wants to be a knight; isn't that so?" Elinor patted his back.
"Yes." Sandor managed before burying his face in Elinor's hair.
In the alcove, he heard Gregor snort at that but he said nothing. From that day on, Sandor watched from his window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young woman once again. After Gregor held his face to the fire to punish him for playing with his wooden knight, Sandor no longer saw the young woman.
One day as Elinor cleaned his wounds, he asked about her, and was stunned to hear that Elia and her father had moved away. "She apparently mixed up the presents, Sandor; Elia was supposed to give you the toy knight, not Gregor. Father raged at her for her mistake, and poor thing, she blamed herself for the subsequent…accident. After that, her father thought it best they move away from here."
Elinor caressed his hair as she spoke. Bitter tears stung his eyes, but Sandor merely nodded and submitted to her treatment. It was then that Sandor marked the time his anger began simmering against Gregor and his father alike. It was their fault he was burned, and their fault the pretty girl left him. Despite Elinor's many attempts at an explanation, Sandor could not fathom why his father had allowed an innocent girl to believe she was responsible, to bear the burden of blame for Gregor's atrocity.
From then on, Sandor was determined he would never lie, no matter how awful the truth may be. It could never hurt as much as his wounds and the subsequent misery they caused, after all, or the pain of believing you were the cause of an innocent child being scarred for life. Though Sandor's words of truth often inflicted terrible wounds, they never would cause as much anguish as the lie Elia was allowed to believe for the rest of her life, of that he was certain. That beautiful young girl suffered along with him because of a lie, and Sandor wanted to no part of it.
Once Robert appointed him as Cersei's sworn shield, Sandor had discreetly sent out inquiries though the Seven Kingdoms as to Elia's whereabouts, but he never did find out what became of her. As the years passed rage fomented within him, hardening his heart and from the fires of his hatred he forged the persona of the Hound. Whoever said that time heals all wounds was a buggering fool; for with it, Sandor's hatred for liars intensified right along with his animosity for Gregor, the two becoming inextricably connected in his mind.
What bothered Sandor most, if he was honest with himself, was thatexperience is the true reason he could not bear to hear the Little bird chirp her lies in court, although Sandor understood it meant her life to do so effectively.
Watching Sansa, a beautiful, teary eyed, frightened child chirp her courtesies and tales to the Lannisters cut the man to the core; watching her inexplicably laid Sandor Clegane bare and her kindness shed his persona of the Hound. With her, Sandor was no longer the Hound, no longer the strong, fierce warrior whom all feared. No, he was a little boy again, scared, burying his face in his sister's skirts, who had burned for his innocence, who had suffered for a lie his entire life.
That is why Sandor barked at her, mocked her for her innocence and carefully crafted tales even though it shamed him and drove him to drink. Sandor needed to save her, to show her that the lions would show her no mercy and that her survival depended on her learning there were no true knights. In the end, it was the reason he finally chose to share with Sansa the secret of his scars, the reason he forced her to look at his face, so she would see the ugliness such lies wrought and would learn better, do better than Sandor had done.
And so Sansa had. Though they had been married for a quarter century, Sandor never shared this with Sansa, never confided to her the reasons for the behavior that shamed him every day since the Battle of the Blackwater. He has wanted to speak of it to her for many years, but something unspeakably distressing always held him back, choking his words and sending him into his wineskins. Sansa never failed to find him after these episodes, and to her credit, she never pried for answers. No, his lovely wife never commented on it at all, and only cared for him, as she always did.
She has ghosts of her own that steal her peace, but Sandor has never managed to allow her the same courtesy, always demanding answers, making it worse for her. She deserves better, he knows, and that is part of his shame as well. No matter how it tortures him, Sandor will reveal to Sansa his reasons for telling her the truth behind his scars that drunken night. He will make his beloved wife understand, he promised himself as she slept peacefully in his arms after their lovemaking. He will make her see that, in her innocence and faith in true knights, he saw himself beforehe was burned, and the pain it brought to his heart burned hotter than any fire he had ever faced.
Yes, Sansa deserves that much from him, the woman who has given him so much, and no longer will Sandor allow his beloved wife to believe it was her fault, as Elia had spent her life believing. He will make it right. When she awakened, Sandor was determined that he would not wait a moment longer: today would be the day he would tell Sansa the truth for her sake and that of their children. He would tell Sansa the truth for the sake of beautiful Elia, the woman who he never had the chance to tell the truth; most importantly, he would do it for the sake of the wide eyed six year old that still lives deep within the heart of Sandor Clegane.